CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

About Arissen

Imbati Dexelin—his Dexelin—came with him as they all left for the Hall of the Eminence. Adon imagined him: long brown hair in finely finished braids, wearing a black suit and suede-soled black boots. Black was the color of trust. Dexelin would keep him safe, and would keep the crowds from getting too close. The only sad thing was that, with Dexelin at his station, Adon couldn’t see him.

Arissen Melín walked ahead. Her shiny black leather boots, under bright orange trouser-hems, had thick soles and chrome fittings: intimidation she would use on his behalf. Yes, she was Cohort, but the Household had approved her. That meant she was safe.

His own suit was Grobal green with a pattern of stalactites and stalagmites in raised velvet on flat silk, the only thing that had seemed appropriate for standing up on a stage in front of the entire Pelismara Society.

Tagaret walked on his left, and Nekantor on his right, with the rest of the First Family all around.

Nekantor whispered words down into his ear.

“The Round of Twelve has traditionally been a simple matter, Adon, but we can’t count on that. Not after last time.”

“Yeah,” said Tagaret. “Because Nekantor made everybody panic last time.”

Why was that not surprising? “Did he?”

“He decided to talk about how the Eminence had just died of Kinders fever.”

Nekantor snorted. “It’s not my fault they weren’t prepared to talk about reality.”

The more he heard Nekantor talk, the less he liked this decision. It would be so much easier if Mother were here . . .

I can’t go with you, love. I’ve been through this before, and it’s too much. I can’t stand to watch you go up there. Into those lights. Under all those eyes.

Adon grunted. It wasn’t fair that Mother wanted to stay home. The attention of the Pelismara Society was actually the one thing he’d been looking forward to. Finally his good health could be a real advantage, and not just something everyone resented.

Would people make a fuss if he asked Dexelin to walk where he could see him?

“You’ll be the first one to speak,” Nekantor said.

“All right.”

“Memorize who your opponents are. You must be prepared to speak about recent events.”

“Recent events?” Adon asked, frowning. The voices of dead men? A murdering brother?

Tagaret patted his shoulder. “Remember the Ball. This is more political, but it’s not entirely different. The most important thing is speaking about something that makes you feel confident. Confidence will impress the cabinet.”

“Recent events,” Nekantor insisted. “The Great Families won’t have forgotten that I confronted their fears in my speech last time. Their candidates will be prepared. If you have nothing of substance to say, you’ll look foolish and weak.”

“Great.” Adon rolled his eyes.

“Arissen,” Nekantor said. “Talk about the danger of Arissen.”

Adon grunted again. Arissen, what a suggestion. What they really needed to talk about was that Nekantor was a murderer and every guard in orange worked for him.

“Fine,” Adon said.

“What are you going to speak about, then?”

“Arissen.”

“Good.”

“Mercy of Heile,” sighed Tagaret.

Adon tried to ignore the two of them, to focus farther back. “Dexelin, are you there?”

The servant’s voice spoke at his left ear. “Yes, sir?”

Are you all right? I wish I could see you. He didn’t say it. “Thank you.”

There were crowds of Eminence’s Cohort guards outside the ballroom entrance, and they endured tunnel-hound security all over again. Beside him, Nekantor kept making small disgusted noises under his breath as though the hound would soil his white suit. Adon shuddered, and tried to move away.

At last they were passed through into the ballroom, where the Families were preparing their candidates to enter the Hall of the Eminence. The space beneath the arches was mostly empty, now; the heavy chandeliers shone brightly down on tight clumps of people from each Family.

“So, so,” announced Arbiter Lorman. “Here’s where we have our spot. So we wait here until you’re called to line up.”

“Here’s how it will work,” Nekantor said. “The throne will have been moved to the far side of the stage. That’s all right, though. It’s all right. It’s all part of the game. Only the chosen Heir may pass, when the game is done.”

Adon flashed a look at him. “This isn’t a game, Nekantor.”

“It’s the best game of all.” Nekantor’s eyes were bright. “The real game. Don’t worry; no one will try to kill you until tomorrow.”

The look on his brother’s face made a horrid feeling crawl down his back. “Tagaret? Can I please talk with you for a minute?”

“I’m right here,” said Tagaret. “Come on, Nek, give him a break.”

“Your Eminence, sir,” said a Cohort guard who was accompanying Nekantor today, “your place is ready on the stage.”

“Yes, of course,” Nekantor agreed. “Adon, don’t forget, you need something to talk about.”

Just leave. Adon closed his eyes in frustration. “Arissen, I know.”

“He’s got it, Nek,” said Tagaret. “Don’t worry. You can go take your spot.”

“Arissen,” Nekantor said. He stalked away beneath the arch that led to the Hall of the Eminence.

Mercy! Finally, Adon managed a full breath. “This is killing me.”

“Don’t say that, young Adon, please.” That was Lady Selemei’s voice. When he looked over, the Lady was gazing at him with concern in her dark eyes. Her gray gown glittered with flecks of crystal, a waterfall over stone that began at her left shoulder. “Don’t call down Elinda’s attention.”

“Sorry.” Wrong again. Nothing he did was right anymore.

“I’m proud of you, Cousin,” said Lady Selemei. “Don’t worry. You’re going to do beautifully.”

“Lady—”

She patted his arm with a hand in a gray glove that matched her dress. “I want you to remember that I’ll be in the cabinet seating area, right below the stage. Just look down if you feel nervous, and I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you, Lady.” When she was gone, he whispered, “Tagaret?”

Tagaret crouched down to him, resting both hands gently on his shoulders, and spoke in a whisper. “Adon, when Nek is here, I have to pretend that I want you to win. But really, you don’t need to. A lot of people want you to, and I get that it’s a lot of pressure, but it’s so dangerous. People will try to kill you again, definitely more than once. There’s no kind of power in the world that’s worth your life.”

Adon swallowed. “I wish Mother were here.” And Aloran.

“Mother would say the same thing I’m saying. That’s why she’s not here.”

Arbiter Lorman marched up. “So, so. Young Adon, time to line up.”

Tagaret squeezed his hand, with eyebrows raised, a reminder in his eyes:

You don’t have to win.

If he dragged his feet, he just knew Lorman was going to grab him. The candidates of other Families were forming a line near the broad archway where Nekantor had disappeared. Five of them were grown men, eyes full of hate, who seemed to have attention only for each other. The others were boys from school, and friends he’d seen at the Ball.

He didn’t want to memorize the people in that line. He didn’t want to look at them at all.

“So, off you go, young Adon,” said Lorman. “Win our future for us. Make the First Family proud.”

Half-sick, Adon walked into the shadow of the archway. The bright light on the far side drew closer, and then opened up: this was the same stage access aisle he’d watched people walk through at the Ball. He straightened his shoulders, tugged the hem of his coat, and raised his head.

Whether he hated every minute of this or not, he could at least look as good as his clothes deserved.

Step by step, the stage lifted him above the crowd, its colors, and its gossip. The broad, bright space of the stage felt strangely close to the crystal chandeliers. Wood vibrated under his feet, harder than carpet, softer than stone. He looked for Nekantor.

There he was: on the far side, wound into the throne as tightly as the vine pattern that had been carved into it. His hands gripped the wood.

No; don’t think about him. This is not for him.

Adon looked down and found his spot, marked with a number 1.

Looking down was also how he should find Lady Selemei—and sure enough, she was right there. Light sparkled from the crystals on her dress. She looked up at him, and smiled.

Adon smiled back. I can do this.

Speaker Fedron was sitting beside her; now, he stood up and began to speak into a microphone.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of the Pelismara Society, welcome,” he said. “Allow me to announce the candidates for Heir. From the First Family, Adon, age thirteen. From the second, Nayal, age seventeen . . .”

It seemed like ages since his birthday party. He almost wished Nayal had been wearing a bicolor jacket. But, as he had at the Ball, he was trying to look like a grownup: he wore a fashionably knotted scarf, glittering amethyst buttons, and matching purple gloves. Farther down the line, Igan of the Ninth Family actually was wearing something from the party: a black velvet cape with gold edges. His vest and gloves had gold buttons to match. Venmer of the Eighth Family wore sapphire. Out of fashion, but what did you expect from a bully and tunnel-hound with no sense of style?

The others would be trickier to remember. In the corner of his eye, Adon watched each candidate straighten as his name was called. The Fifth Family’s man was named Unger, and had long waves of blond hair that shone against the shoulders of a dark garnet-red jacket. Some others—Preines, Gosek, Rorni—seemed to think nothing of wearing last season’s button fashions as if they didn’t care. The Twelfth Family had sent a twenty-year-old with black gloves and a snarling smile.

When the last candidate had been announced, Nekantor stood up from the throne. His white suit and drape of white and gold made him stand out like a shinca beside everyone else.

“Candidates,” he said, staring at them each in turn. “Welcome. You have now joined in a tradition of dignity hundreds of years old. Your initial statements, please.”

Adon took a deep breath and looked away from his brother’s clutching gaze. Talk about Arissen. There were Arissen all around the edges of this room, and every one of them held a weapon. Out of all of them, only Melín was worthy of trust. To talk about them—gods, it made his chest feel tight. At least he couldn’t see any wysps in the hall.

“Thank you,” Adon said. “I’m proud to represent the First Family.” He glanced at Nekantor again, and wished he hadn’t. He turned instead to look across the line of candidates. “I wonder if you are all as scared as I am by the way that the Eminence Herin died. Because if you’re not, you should be.”

“Scared?” a boy near the other end of the line exclaimed, out of turn. “Maybe that’s because you’re only thirteen. You should leave this discussion to men who can handle it.”

Men? Adon raised his eyebrows, but starting a petty argument onstage seemed like a stupid idea. He cast a glance to Nayal, beside him.

“You mean, sixteen-year-old ‘men’ who haven’t reached the age of choice, do you, Rorni?” Nayal asked. “I agree that we need to talk about how the Eminence Herin died. We’ve allowed Arissen to carry bolt weapons through our halls for too long. It’s time to disarm the Eminence’s Cohort.”

That suggestion sent murmurs through the assembled crowd.

“Bolt weapons were designed to be used against wysps,” said the big man from the Third Family. “They belong on the surface, and not in the city at all.”

The Fourth Family’s boy had a high piercing voice. “If a single Arissen can cause an explosion that kills forty people, then we’ve given them too much power.”

Adon scanned the Cohort guards at the doors again, his stomach in a knot. Nekantor had gotten what he wanted, because here they were, talking about Arissen. Did the guards care about being discussed like this?

“Such dramatic suggestions,” said Unger of the Fifth Family, smoothly. “Have you forgotten how a member of the Eminence’s Cohort used her weapon to save Adon of the First Family from an assassin? We need to improve their training, but tying Arissen hands would prove hazardous to our health.”

“Training will never be enough,” said Preines of the Sixth Family. “Arissen are violent. Violence is in their nature.”

“We could require them to be examined by doctors,” said the Seventh Family’s candidate. “To make sure they’re not insane.”

You realize you’re saying this to their faces? Adon couldn’t help glancing toward the nearest Cohort guard, at the base of the stage steps. No way to tell if he cared, or even if he was listening.

“This is stupid,” said Venmer of the Eighth Family. “It’s just—stupid. Arissen are Arissen.”

“Excuse me,” said Igan of the Ninth Family. “If we’re speaking of deaths caused by Arissen, I think it’s time we discuss the Paper Shadows.”

Muffled exclamations burst from the assembled crowd, quickly subsiding into a round of frantic murmurs. Adon had definite opinions about the Paper Shadows, but it wouldn’t do him any good to speak now. He bit his tongue, watching for the man with the black gloves to have his turn.

“Paper Shadows?” echoed the boy from the Tenth Family.

“Assassins, Rorni,” said Igan.

“Assassins should not be part of this discussion,” said the man from the Eleventh Family. “We’re losing focus. This is about the Eminence’s Cohort.”

“I’m not sure about that, Gosek,” said the man with the black gloves. “Paper Shadows are as much Arissen as the Eminence’s Cohort. Are we serious here, or not?”

His turn again, at last.

“We’re not!” Adon cried. He looked out over the milling, uncertain crowd. “Here we are, arguing back and forth about Arissen responsibility, but we’re erasing the most important thing. Orders! Arissen take orders! What about our responsibility? What about Nekantor’s responsibility, for ordering the death of Eminence Herin?”

The entire crowd gasped.

Oh, holy Mai, had he really said that to the whole Pelismara Society?

But what if Nekantor deserved it?

Adon didn’t dare look at his brother.

“First Family,” said the Eleventh Family’s candidate, “Are you suggesting that the Paper Shadows have infiltrated the Eminence’s Cohort?”

“What?” several of the candidates exclaimed.

“Wait, wait,” said Nayal. “Why are we using the Paper Shadows at all? If we twelve represent the best blood of the Race, how does it help the decline to kill any of us?”

“Exactly,” said Igan.

“There is a legitimate discussion to be had about that,” agreed Unger, calmly flipping a lock of blond hair behind one shoulder.

“Speaker Fedron,” said a voice from a different direction. Below the stage, one of the cabinet members had stood up. It was a face Adon recognized: one of the Fifth Family men who had come to the Privilege competition at the Academy. “Given what we’ve just heard, we should put priority on obtaining the results of the investigation into the Eminence Herin’s death.”

“Not now, Kaspri.” Speaker Fedron waved his hands before anyone could speak further. “Please. The candidates have made their initial statements. It’s time to vote.”

Fedron’s Chenna moved around the circle of cabinet members below the stage, entering votes into an ordinating machine, and finally delivered it to her Master.

“We give thanks to all the Twelve Families for offering us their best,” said Speaker Fedron. “Will the following four candidates please step down.”

Adon held his breath. He probably should have thought harder about whether he would be disappointing Speaker Fedron and Lady Selemei by accusing Nekantor. By now it was too late.

You don’t have to win.

“Preines of the Sixth Family. Venmer of the Eighth Family. Rorni of the Tenth Family. Gosek of the Eleventh Family.”

The crowd in the Hall burst into cheers and moans, almost drowning out the sound of Speaker Fedron’s voice as he congratulated the candidates, wished them luck in their interviews with the Eminence, and told them to reappear in three days for the Round of Eight.

Adon didn’t want to turn his head back toward the throne. Nekantor was sure to be furious—

He sneaked a glance. Nekantor was walking straight toward him, not smiling, but not scowling either.

“You’re through to the next round, Adon.”

Adon swallowed. “Yes.” It seemed too risky to say anything more.

“Better study up for your interview.”

“All right.”

“I can see you’re not planning to go easy on me.”

Heile help him. “Uh,” he managed. “Well—”

Nekantor’s mouth crept into a smirk. “I won’t go easy on you either. I want an Heir, not a fool. Don’t try that again.”